


First Sight

by thefallenballerina



Series: Ancient [1]
Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bi/Pan Charles, Canon Jewish Character, Charles Xavier Needs a Hug, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles You Slut, Erik Lehnsherr Loves Charles Xavier, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Erik has Issues, Flirting, Homosexual Chess Playing, Homosexual Gazing, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Missing Scenes, Mutual Pining, Raven Suffering, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:55:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25011250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefallenballerina/pseuds/thefallenballerina
Summary: Erik Lehnsherr met no one, knew no one, befriended no one, allowed his body to be destroyed by injury after injury as a negligible cost of accomplishing his own mission given no alternative.That was, of course, before Charles showed up.X-Men: First Class told mostly through missing scenes.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Series: Ancient [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1810912
Comments: 18
Kudos: 61





	1. Lead In

**1.**

Of course, it was so much easier to travel--undocumented or otherwise--in the 60s.

Erik Lehnsherr was born in 1930 and taken to Auschwitz in 1944. They were liberated the following January. He was 14.

Of course, Shaw survived. Erik doubted he even required the use of his mutation to do so.

The period of years in which Erik’s sole purpose in life was to hunt Nazis was a time when many survivors couldn’t--or wouldn’t--talk about what happened to them. Of course they couldn’t, how could they be expected to simply rejoin society after that? In 1945, psychology barely existed at all. There was no such thing as therapy, no such thing as counseling, no such term as Post Traumatic Stress.

So, when Erik Lehnsherr hunted, tortured, and killed Nazis, it was his priority that they knew _why_.

He financed his tour through Europe first by pickpocketing (if small children could learn to do it, why couldn’t he?), which proved to hone a fine control of his mutation: how in a few deft, maneuvers he could beckon a tourist’s wallet and quickly pay for his own meal with their cash while they were just sitting down, and replace it back in their bag or pocket in seconds. No better teacher than necessity.

When he got his hands on their gold, though, things became much easier. It was simple enough to bend it into heavy bangles and sell them to jewelers as family heirlooms.

He was sloppy in a lost way at first, but he learned to feed his own rage like a bonfire. All he has to do was envision Shaw’s face and it kept him warm for days.

To say he learned to be entirely self-sufficient would not be quite true, because it would imply that he had the option to learn. Having the option to learn would imply that he could have made mistakes. He became entirely self-sufficient given no alternative. He stitched his own wounds given no alternative. He met no one, knew no one, befriended no one, allowed his body to be destroyed by injury after injury as a negligible cost of accomplishing his own mission _given no alternative_.

That was, of course, before Charles showed up.

**2.**

Charles Xavier started to hear voices in his head at the age of nine. Retrospectively, the youthful willingness to believe the unbelievable must have only helped him take to it--it only took him a few months to figure out that he wasn’t entirely mad and adjust to the constant chatter of family and staff and guests around the mansion. His range was mercifully small at that age--usually he could only hear around the grounds and a bit down the road into town.

It was a surprise, then, during a walk with Raven on one of the first sunny days that Spring to overhear the frankly _overjoyed_ thoughts of their mechanic at the fact that one of the maids had finally, _finally_ agreed to--wrap her lips around his penis?

“Oh dear,” He said aloud, without really meaning to. He automatically wrapped an arm around Raven’s shoulders and directed her into making a quick turn in the opposite direction, straight back the way they had come.

“What’s going on?” Raven piped up, but allowed herself to be directed all the same.

“Erm,” Charles began awkwardly, horribly embarrassed and confused as to why. “There’s something--rather strange going on in the garage right now and I don’t think they want to be interrupted.” God, now that he’d started to hear it he couldn’t _stop_.

 _He’s not bad-looking...maybe now he’ll finally leave me alone_ the girl was thinking. Charles’s stomach turned a little. He couldn’t imagine wanting something like that from another person, let alone _asking_ for it. What was the point? Why would you do that to someone else?

“Do you mean like a crime?” Raven asked, bless her for bringing him back to reality.

“No no, at least I don’t think so.” Charles said quickly. The last thing he wanted was to have to explain that to the young girl he had already begun to think of as his little sister. “Would you like to go sit beneath the apple tree? And I’ll read to you?”

“Alright,” Raven agreed easily. “You seem upset though, is there something wrong?”

Raven had only been staying with them a month, but Charles already knew it was not in her nature to drop any topic of conversation that interested her. “No,” he told her, as calmly as he could manage. “No, nothing’s wrong”.

::::

It took until New Years for him to get properly desensitized. It was New Years Eve exactly because his mother threw an unbelievable party with dozens of guests that got a damn sight out of hand where he unwillingly learnt just about every word for every “you’ll-understand-when-you’re-older” type of behavior known to man. The chaos built until there became such a great flurry of thought and feeling and commotion at the stroke of midnight that Charles found himself hunched over in the bathroom nearest to his bedroom, vomiting. He expected to pass out directly afterwards, as usually happened to him after bouts of the stomach flu, but no relief found him. It was impossible to rest with a crowd of strangers hosting a carnival of alcohol, drugs, and lust in his backyard.

Relief didn’t come easy. To telepaths, he would learn, it never does.

Every time he tried to drift off, he was bombarded by another person’s flourish of thought. _Who could pass over the plate with the coke on it? Who could pour me another drink? Would he sleep with me? Would she? This dress is too tight on my tits. Why does he keep talking about being from Sacramento?_ It was maddening. He wished he could be like Raven, asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow and dead to the world all night long.

He faded from consciousness between four am and five, when the revelers stumbled into cabs or made use of the ample hospitality provided by the mansion, passing out on beds (be it their own of someone else’s) or sofas, even a few finding soft enough patches of grass or carpet to conk out on.

He emerged from a long sleep on New Year’s Day, 1942, a new man at ten years of age. His mind buzzed unpleasantly with new knowledge, though it was gained against his will. He was convinced that nothing--nothing _ever_ \--could surprise him.

That was, of course, before he found Erik.

**3.**

Raven couldn’t yet hold a face that wasn’t her own long enough to last the whole school day, so she hid in the mansion while Charles was at school and he taught her what they were learning each evening when he got home. She seemed to tense up when she transformed, as though she were holding her breath. Charles did his best to get her to relax into it--his telepathy had become much easier to control once he had accepted it was there to stay, whether he liked it or not. He often found her practicing her illusions in the mirror when he got home from school, imitating members of the staff or family perfectly.

When he had found her in the kitchen, it only took them a few hours together to hatch a plan. But first, Charles had to be sure that he could do it without being noticed. He started small--making his nanny allow him to stay up an hour later than usual, convincing the cook he really needed an extra portion of his desert every night--it was surprisingly easy. He was put to the real test for the first time when one day he heard a scream from the library and ran in to find Raven, blue and terrified trying to hide behind a bookshelf as one of the maids hyperventilated from seeing her true form. “ _What_ \--” she screeched, “ _What is that thing_?”

“Can’t you change back?” Charles snapped in Raven’s direction. Her voice warbled so much on the reply that he realized she was crying quite badly.

“N-no…” She sobbed. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I can’t turn, I can’t turn!”

“It’s going to be alright!” He said quickly, though he was starting to panic himself.

“Charles, what are you doing _talking_ to her--to _it_!?” The maid thundered.

“ _Charles_ , can’t you do something?” Raven called to him

“Be very quiet! Stay where you are!” Charles called back, struck with a terrible idea. Half-crazed, he slammed into the maid’s mind and ripped out her memory of the last few minutes of her day. Her face and posture relaxed immediately, and her eyes slid blankly over the room to land on him.

“Are you quite alright?” She asked him, her brow wrinkling in sympathy. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

“No, no, I just--” he stuttered, hardly daring to believe that it had worked, “I just have a headache. We had a spelling test at school today and I’m awful at it.” He lowered his head and slumped his shoulders in a way he knew made the older ladies melt, and it worked instantly.

“Aw, you poor thing. You go lay down, I’ll bring you an Aspirin tablet and a glass of water.” She patted his head and left, not suspecting a thing.

He waited for her to be out of earshot before he quietly said “Raven?” She sniffed in response, he could hear her shaky breaths in the thick silence of the library. “Are you alright? She didn’t hurt you, did she?”

“No,” Raven’s voice was hoarse from crying. “No, she just screamed.”

“I’m sorry for yelling,” Charles continued. “Can I hug you please? I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

Raven’s sniffling seemed to speed up for a moment and Charles was terrified he’d said something wrong, that he might have hurt her further. “Of course you can,” she croaked.

Relieved, he went to her and wrapped his arms around her little, shaking shoulders. “It will be alright.” He promised steadily. “I’ll find a way to fix it, to fix everything. You’ll be a real part of the family soon, and you won’t have to hide...as much.” He had nearly stopped after ‘you won’t have to hide’ but then realized his mistake. They would both have to hide, always, but her so much more than him.

A week later, he hardly breathed as he stretched his telepathy to cover the entire mansion, beginning with his mother and ending with the mechanic, implanting a rock-solid, unquestionable belief that Raven was the beloved second Xavier child, adopted after her parents tragically died in a car accident.

The next morning, Sharon knocked Raven’s door herself. She flickered blue-and-red to peach-and-blonde in an instant. “Raven, dear,” Sharon announced, “I think it’s time to take you clothes shopping. Summer’s just around the corner, you know.”

Raven returned that afternoon, exhausted but beaming. “She was nice to me!” She gushed, “She was really, _really_ nice. Charles, thank you!” This time, happy tears bubbled up as she curls into his chest. “Thank you, thank you, _thank you_.”

Charles felt the back of his throat tighten, his face growing warm. He loves her, he realized then, his heart seemed to grow with the weight of it. He would do anything to protect her.

That year was Raven’s first real Christmas, ripping through mountains of wrapping paper, giggling in her pristine, pink pajamas.

Charles kept the one surviving photograph from that Christmas as proof of their life before Kurt happened. Before Sharon started drinking around the time he turned 12, before the not-so-accidental accident that cost Charles what was left of his mother.

He inherited the mansion at 15 and left for Oxford three months later, taking Raven with him. They don’t talk about the accident, or Cain, still free to wreak havoc on the world. He taught her not to look back, and they never did.

**4.**

The fact that he was queer never really occurred to Charles, as such. Being a telepath, the differences between heterosexuality and homosexuality and bisexuality never  _ really  _ occurred to him. There was simply desire--whoever turned your head at that particular moment, whoever stepped into the light at the precise right time. It became obvious to him quite quickly, though, that there were at least as many people who were queer as those who weren’t--perhaps even more, if you counted those who refused to acknowledge or act on their impulses. 

That was another funny, human thing: shame. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the most unhappy queer people were the ones who believed deep, down in their marrow, that they were alone. The happiest were the ones who knew that they weren’t. There were secret gatherings to be found and even in some cities, not-so-secret ones. 

Because of his gift, Charles became known for having a zero-fail rate when it came to bed partners. He wasn’t squeamish--about anything, really, including his virginity, when the time came. “I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he murmured, smiling at the older boy who he’d caught fantasizing about him for weeks. The boy froze and began to turn red. Charles blinked prettily and moved to get exactly what he had come for. “I know what it is you want,” he continued, “and I’m offering”. 

_ Holy shit!  _ The boy’s mind shouted.  _ Holy shit. Alright, be cool. _ Charles stifled the urge to laugh. “You’re serious?” 

“Absolutely.” 

“Meet me here after my last class ends--4:30 alright?” He quickly scrawled his apartment number on a corner of notebook paper and tore it off, handed it to him. 

Charles pocketed his prize, beaming. “Absolutely.”

::::

He knew people generally thought of him as confident, he knew Raven thought of him as cocky. “All that sleeping around is bad for your ego,” She tells him dryly. “If it swells up any bigger it might start casting its own shadow around you.” 

“Hilarious,” He deadpans back at her. 

::::

It became second nature, after a few first attempts, to skim over people’s minds to find those whose attentions are already turned to him--his eyes, lips, hair, gait, shoulders, arse, hands. Flirting wasn’t only a way to get sex, he quickly found out. Most people simply found him to be beautiful. It became equally easy to use his telepathic charms to grab a seat in classes already past registration, bend deadlines to suit him, sneak Raven past age restrictions in movie theaters and bars. He called, and his telepathy answered again and again until it never even occurred to him to doubt it. 

By the end of his first year at University he’s already perfected his pitch about “very groovy mutations”. 


	2. Concentration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to cryptidwintersoldier who has been doing my beta reading, this fic would never have happened without them and they have all my undying gratitude.

**1.**

The CIA’s spotlights found them clinging to each other in the middle of the ocean, half-drowned on Erik’s part and half-frozen on Charles’s.

They were awkwardly maneuvered up aboard the ship, where Charles was thoroughly scolded by Moira for being so damn stupid and endangering himself and their whole mission while they were hastily given thin shock blankets. “Who _is_ he? A hostage? Why was he in a wetsuit?” She didn’t bother to lower her voice even though Erik was barely four feet from them, changing from his wetsuit into a plain pair of grey sweats with CIA logos on them in a minuscule supply room. Something inside of Charles twinges at the realization that Erik probably didn’t have any underwear. 

“I believe he stole the wetsuit.” Charles replied dryly. 

“Don’t be smart!” Moira snapped. “You both could have died. Who. Is. He.” 

Behind the bathroom door, Erik’s movements slowed. He was eavesdropping, openly. He wanted to know just what Charles was able to glean from a glance at his mind, the extent of his access. “His name is Erik Lehnsherr. He was hunting Sebastian Shaw and his associates, and has been for years. He’s been collecting information we could only dream of. He’s valuable, Moira, I know that he is.” Erik winced inwardly at being objectified as “valuable” but decided to brush it off. He knew that they were powerful, and that it was advantageous if they viewed him as a necessary player. 

::::

Erik and Charles were assigned a room together. Erik’s guard stayed up through the process of setting his shoes next to the heater to dry out while Charles briskly stripped down to his undershirt and boxers to change into dry clothes to sleep in. 

“Are you alright?” Charles ventured. They both had been checked over by a medic upon being brought aboard, but he felt the need to ask anyway. 

“Yes.” Erik said tonelessly, sitting on the bed at the far side of the room. 

Perhaps a more conversational approach, then. “Do you get seasick?” 

“No, I don’t get seasick.” A shade of annoyance bled through this time. Erik settled down on the bed and Charles does the same, though slightly slower. Without even a twitch of his fingers, Erik turned the lights off. 

Charles couldn’t help but smile at that. “Telekinetic?” He asked, though he knew the answer already. Sometimes people were more open to actually talking if they started by contradicting you. 

“Just metals, actually,” This time it was pride that colored his voice. 

_Ah,_ Charles thought, _here we are_. “That’s not ‘just’ anything, my friend, everything is made out of metals these days. There’s nothing you couldn’t do.” 

Flattery would get you anywhere, it seemed. The tenor of Erik’s thoughts had lightened from wariness until it was shot through with a humble sort of joy. 

“Your watch must have stopped ticking when you hit the water, I can take a look at it if you’d let me,” Erik’s voice was so quiet it was nearly swallowed up in the darkness between them. 

“Of course,” Charles said immediately, expecting him to do it tomorrow over breakfast or perhaps-- 

But the watch floated upwards as if on its own accord, off of the small night table between them where Charles had put it down when he undressed, too tired to even realize it had stopped running. It landed in Erik’s outstretched fingers, casual as anything. “Incredible,” Charles breathed, hearing his own exclamation without truly planning on saying it. “Absolutely incredible”. 

Erik seemed to stop breathing instantly, the texture of his thoughts darkening with fear and memory. Charles peaked, despite himself, just to see what he had done wrong. From the distance of time, Charles got the impression of a male presence looming over his shoulder, a life-threatening one. There was no mistaking that kind of fear in hearing his rasping voice toll _what you can do is incredible, Erik_. The second the memory floated to the top, he tried to push it back down again. 

_You’re with your own kind here_ . Erik told himself, though it was a cold comfort. _They want Shaw dead too, you can work with that_. He turned his attention to the fine inner workings of Charles’s watch, forcing himself to concentrate, feeling out where the salt water had disrupted the mechanism and thinking of how to fix it. 

Charles knew Erik wouldn't be able to fall asleep before him--a base part of Erik that functioned only on instinct made it impossible to let his guard down that far in front of someone else. Erik was settling in to concentrate on the watch, despite his own exhaustion, expecting Charles to drift off any second. He wasn’t too far off. 

Struck by a sudden inspiration, Charles voiced his parting remark as he started to doze. “It’s a very groovy mutation you have there, my friend.” His voice was soft and blurred to his own ears, as nonthreatening as is humanly possible for one of the world’s most powerful telepaths, but Erik froze again.

 _Surely he’s not suffering a gay panic over being flirted with by another man, at his age?_ Charles thought. But it was different than he assumed, because of course it was, this was Erik Lehnsherr for God’s sake. 

When Charles peaked into Erik’s thoughts again, he found an impressive amount of mental silence, seemingly shaken to his very foundation. Moved so much by a single kind word, Charles was staggered. _Need to start small with this one, then_ . He caught himself thinking, shocking himself a little. _When have you ever planned for a long term relationship with…anyone?_ A voice that sounded like Raven’s asked him. He never had before. 

Charles fell asleep quickly, lulled to sleep by Erik’s mind making the tiniest of adjustments, one at a time, with all the care in the world. 

**2.**

Charles woke the next morning to the face of his watch, ticking away evenly. He’d barely had the time to sit up and realize that Erik was nowhere in sight before the doorknob turned and he entered, in his clothes again and with damp hair. “Where did you find a shower?” Charles asked without preamble. 

“At the head of the ship.” Erik replied, as though it were obvious. “You should probably rinse off too, you’re still covered in seawater.” 

Erik had woken up before Charles, then. The fleeting thought of Erik watching him sleep left an odd feeling in his chest. 

_And will you be here when I get back, or will you have jumped ship by then?_ Charles wanted to reply. Didn’t. 

::::

“Where can your things be found?” Charles braved a question in Erik’s direction over a breakfast of toast and coffee (needing the caffeine, Charles made the executive decision not to turn his nose up). “You must be traveling with _some_ objects.” 

“I had a hotel room before I went to find Shaw, I suppose my things and my suitcase would still be there.” 

“Good. Then we can head there after we ‘de-plane’, as it were.” He tried for humor, but it fell flat and awkward. 

“I can go alone, we can arrange a meeting point for later.” _The more opportunities for escape, the better_ , Erik was thinking. 

“No, no I can come with you. I’ve nothing else to do today, and it’s really no trouble at all.” 

“It’s just an errand.” Erik said tersely. 

“Exactly.” Charles returned. 

::::

Erik’s hotel room was, as expected, sparse and neat. The glaring exception to that rule was the board of materials connecting Erik’s targets--photographs, maps, documents--some of it even written in Erik’s own hand. 

Once he had that all packed away, he extracted a few clothes from the room’s sole suitcase and went into the thimble-sized bathroom to change. He emerged moments later in a neat cream-colored suit, good for the weather. “Perfect,” Slipped from Charles, entirely without him meaning to--the worst part was he truly meant it. His impression of Erik in his stolen wetsuit had been one of simple despair, then discomfort in his CIA-charity, ill-fitting sweatsuit. Erik, comfortable and elegant in his own clothes, was simply that, perfect. 

His voice was met with another quiet, mental flinch from Erik, but again it was the good kind, again his silence said _please, again, and then once more after that_. 

He only had to close up his one small suitcase before he nodded primly at Charles, apparently ready to go.

“That’s all you’ve been traveling with?” Charles couldn’t help but ask. 

“As long as--”

“No matter, I’m sure we can find you some suitable clothes for Virginia.” Charles rushed out, cutting him off for the sole reason that he couldn’t stand to hear Erik say _as long as I can remember_.

“I don’t appreciate charity.” 

_Of course you don’t,_ Charles refrains from saying.“It’s not charity.” 

Erik was unimpressed. “Hm? Then who will be paying for such a thing?”

 _Me! Allow me to--_ Charles thought, so loudly that for a split second he wondered if Erik would hear it, telepathy or no telepathy. “The CIA branch we’re attached to does provide us with a budget for the team, more than enough for a few articles of clothing.” Charles wasn’t technically lying, but he’d be damned if he asked Moira of all people for money to buy a new suit for a career criminal he’d plucked out of the Atlantic not twelve hours previous. 

Charles would call the look Erik gave him ‘measuring’ if not for the fact that his eyes never left Charles’s face. “You’re gentile?” 

Wait, what? “I--yes.” 

“Fine.” 

“Fine?”

Erik shrugged one shoulder. “Fine. I’ll take your money.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a blink-and-you'll-miss-it Call My By Your Name reference buried somewhere in there...
> 
> Comments make Christmas come every day for writers, please leave yours for me to read!


	3. Level Examinations

**1.**

Raven had always adored shopping, and Charles found he adapted quite well to having a fashionista sister, though she had always despised the term. Sports were a pastime for him, but the way some people clung to their team loyalties as the focal point for their entire lives had always struck him as empty and annoying. He did have male friends going up, but typically he hung on to Raven’s cliques of girly-girls, their minds bright and twittering together as a flock of tropical birds would. It was always easy to cajole him into a shopping trip, and, if they were alone, to make Raven laugh playing little telepathy tricks on other shoppers. 

He had never been in the position of  _ doing _ the cajoling. 

He was trying to be indirect about it, to preserve Erik’s pride, but he wasn’t above using his telepathy to grease the wheels if Erik proved to be truly mutinous. He couldn’t bear the idea of Erik lacking anything so necessary as clean, suitable clothing. 

It turned out that Erik’s tastes were similar to Charles’s, in a way: both of them placing quality and function above all else. With years of practice shopping with Raven--efficient, determined, but distractible Raven--it’s second nature for Charles to keep an eye out for suggestions. This was how, without so much as a second thought, he found himself taking up a fine, chocolate-colored leather jacket that would look lovely over the dark turtlenecks and slacks Erik had already picked--he did need some color, didn’t he? Perhaps he liked the protective aspect of the turtleneck, covering the vulnerability of his throat. He would like that about the leather then, creating a more literal kind of armor around his chest and waist. 

“Making suggestions now, are we?” Erik’s tone was dry, as always, but Charles’s surface impression of his mind betrayed his fond little amusement at his behavior. 

He smirked, unable to help himself. “Happy to help in any way that I can.” 

::::

“I only speak a little school French, so I’ll handle checking out?” The expression was more typically ‘schoolboy French’ but Charles Xavier was not about to say that in front of Erik Lehnsherr. 

“Go ahead,” Erik nodded once, but there was a hint of mocking in his tone. Charles slipped into the river of his thoughts for a split second--oh hell,  _ of course  _ Erik had to be fluent in five bloody languages, including French, would he ever cease in becoming more attractive?

He couldn’t help but catch something else, though, something that should have been inconsequential but--a pair of cufflinks had caught Erik’s eye, they were probably just about the most expensive thing in the whole store, too, decorated with delicate filagrees. It was fine work, no wonder he’d noticed it. In a split second of madness, Charles wanted desperately to offer to buy the precious trinkets for him, but of course that would be ridiculous--Erik would never accept, not in a million years. 

::::

They bought plane tickets back to the States for the next day. They bought adjoining hotel rooms for the night (though Charles did allow himself one moment of indulgence to hope against all odds that they somehow only had single rooms with enormous beds available). Then, they bought dinner. 

Somehow, Charles hadn’t been expecting Erik to show up in his new clothes. He did, however, manage to bite down on the word  _ stunning _ making an attempt to escape. Instead, he covered his interest with humor. “Don’t  _ you _ make a pretty picture,” he said as Erik settled in his seat across from him. “Whoever picked that jacket out certainly knew what they were doing.” He quietly wished for Erik to take the joke in stride, but his face remained serious, though his gaze was light. 

“I’m sure he did.” Erik said, leveling his stare at Charles and refusing so much as a blink. Only enjoyed watching him squirm minutely in his chair, triumphant under his cool guise. 

**2.**

When they parted in front of their respective hotel room doors, Charles had to remind himself to give Erik the space he probably needed. It wouldn’t do to overcrowd him and overstay his welcome, after all, they had spent nearly a full 24 hours together. 

He was buried in a book when Erik knocked on his door, denying to himself the way his heart leapt into his throat at the sound. Surely not yet--Erik didn’t feel that way about him, wouldn’t Charles know if he did? 

He opened his door to find Erik, missing his jacket and belt, as though he had paused in beginning to undress from the day. When he spoke, his voice was low and earnest. “I would offer you a chess game if I had a board to play on.” 

Charles stepped back and gestured him in automatically. “How did you know I play chess? I thought I was the telepath.” 

“Lucky guess,” Erik gave a small grin, but Charles distinctly caught the phrase _posh Oxbridge prodigy, of course_ _you play chess_ from Erik’s fond surface thoughts. 

“Good one, then,” Charles said as Erik settled into an armchair Charles had occupied before he’d come in. Charles poured them both drinks. “Are you looking forward to tomorrow?” 

“Are you?”

“I’ll get to see Raven again, and that’ll set me right. She was outraged that I made her stay home for this. She hates feeling like she’s being made to miss out on the excitement.” 

“Raven’s your girlfriend?” Was Charles imagining the bitterness trying to purse Erik’s lips? He hoped not. 

“My sister.” And the clouds on Erik’s face lightened just a touch. 

“Where’s home then?” It was more of a philosophical question than a literal one--Erik wondering what a home was, if not the place he was a scared child in. Charles wondered that too. Another unfortunate commonality to be found between them. 

“We share a flat near Pembrooke, she never did very well in school due to her...well, I could show you if you’d let me,” He gestured to his temple. 

“She is another mutant, like us?” Charles nodded. Erik’s mind was lovely when it exploded with questions, about their mutations, about who they were, and how they got that way. He could watch the kaleidoscope turn for hours. “Yes, show me.” He said quickly. 

Grinning at Erik’s eagerness, Charles closed his eyes and laid a finger to his temple, projecting a handful of memories of Raven to share with him. His awe at watching Raven flicker back and forth from face to face--tall, short, fat, thin, man, woman, child. Then he focused on her natural form, the flexible navy scales, wiry red hair, startling yellow eyes. He was braced for Erik’s mind to flinch in fear or disgust despite himself, but he was not prepared for Erik’s mind to practically boil over with amazement. His initial thoughts were a mix of  _ HOW?  _ and  _ oh god, beautiful _ . Charles retreated back into Erik’s stunned silence.

When Erik had first learned about Charles’s mutation he hadn’t exactly been bowled over by admiration, far from it. He’d been incredulous...and wary. So wary. 

Charles strictly informed himself that he was not at all jealous. Raven wasn’t even there. Raven was a  _ child _ for God's sake.  _ And how long is that old excuse going to last? It’s only six months until I can buy my own drinks, Charles.  _ On cue, the Ravenish voice rang through his mind, rich with sarcasm. 

“Blue is the most rarely occurring pigment in nature.” He recited quietly, at a bit of a loss while Erik reeled silently across from him. “I found Raven trying to steal food from our kitchen when I was nine...we still don’t know how old she was when she ran away. She doesn’t remember that part of her life hardly at all, and I’d loathe to make her remember. Some things are better left buried.” 

That caught Erik’s attention. He straightened in his seat and once again leveled Charles with a long, considering look. It was a surprise to him how quickly he had become accustomed to Erik examining him. His gaze and his intense focus only drew Charles to him further. Finally he said, “I wanted to show you something.” 

Neither of them moved so the spell wouldn't break. “Show me then.” Charles said.

Erik took one more breath to stare openly at him before making a small gesture towards the nightstand. One of the nails securing the lamp to the table freed itself with a low creak and floated to Erik’s fingers. It immediately split into two flexible little masses of liquid iron, and in only a few moments Erik was holding perfect replicas of the delicately filagreed cufflinks he had admired in the shop. “Lovely work,” Charles murmured, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the metal while he felt his face heat from Erik  _ still _ examining him. 

“Thank you, my friend.” The first time Erik had used his own endearment back to him. He slipped the cufflinks into his pocket and stood, as if to say ‘you’re dismissed’. Before he let himself out, he turned around and said, “Goodnight, Charles.”

And Charles said, “Goodnight, Erik.” 


	4. Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much to the lovely cryptidwintersoildier , my ever-loyal and patient beta. 
> 
> This chapter brought to you by Erik's precious 0.0 expression upon seeing Hank's mutation for the first time. 
> 
> Don't hate me for the ending, love ya <3

**1.**

They touched down in Richmond, Virginia, jet lagged to hell but ready to work. Moira greeted them in a pair of jet-black glasses, polite and professional.

“And utterly infatuated with me, I’m afraid. I did start to flirt with her when we first met, thinking she was a fellow student at the pub and it gave her the wrong idea entirely.” Charles rattled this off while they were still on the plane, “Although if I’m honest, it does not seem wise to scorn a CIA agent, especially one of the only humans who knows the truth about mutantkind.” The corner of his mouth twisted up when he said  _ scorn _ , but he didn’t manage a smile. 

It was a different word that perked Erik’s ears:  _ mutantkind _ . It rolled off Charles’s tongue so easily that he must have said it before, must have thought about it plenty. Were they truly a new race? A species nearly identical to their predecessor, but infinitely more powerful? He thought of Raven again. Maybe not  _ nearly  _ identical.

::::

They ended up packed in tightly in the back of a purposefully nondescript sedan after Charles received his customary bone-crushing hug from his sister. 

“You must be Raven,” Erik extended his hand and Raven delighted in giving him a firm shake. _Seventeen_. Erik reminded himself pointedly. _She’s_ _probably happy to be treated like an adult_. 

There is something to be said, Erik thought, for the hyper-accurate memories of a telepath. Raven was precisely as Charles had shown him--he would know her amidst a thousand others. “I am! And you are?” 

“My name is Erik,” He began, unsure of how exactly to bring up the subject of his mutation. 

“You’re another agent?” She asked earnestly.

“I’m rather against the idea of agencies,” Erik said, spectacularly displaying his tendency to say exactly what he was thinking and lack of practice speaking socially with other human beings. His abruptness caused Raven’s head to turn quickly, flicking her long hair over his neck and shoulder. He met her gaze evenly, intense though it was. She and Charles obviously had that skill in common. 

Charles nudged her other side. “I showed Erik here your mutation last night, he was suitably impressed.” 

Despite the compliment, Raven’s face seemed to tighten. “ _ You _ showed him.” She repeated, obviously unhappy. 

“Yes, just last night.” Charles replied, oblivious to what was upsetting her. 

“Thanks,” She said sourly, and gave a small sigh. 

“It is truly astounding.” Erik said quickly, because he didn’t think he could say  _ what hath god wrought _ in a way that properly conveyed the immense respect and admiration he felt. “And I would count myself lucky to see it in person, even once.” It was as honest as he was capable of being. It worked. She awarded him another wide-eyed, surprised look, though it was a flattered one this time. 

Seemingly unsure of how to respond, she eventually returned her gaze to the window (though, he was privately sure her nail varnish changed from red to purple at some point during their drive to Langley). 

Only a minute before they pulled up to the right building, Erik caught Charles stifling a laugh and shaking his head (it took until the middle of the night for him to gather the courage to ask Charles what exactly, he had been giggling about, fearing he had finally read his mind and discovered something Erik couldn’t even name himself. “Raven,” Charles had told him, smiling easily. “She made a private joke to me in her thoughts. I believe her exact words were ‘tall, handsome, charming,  _ and _ he isn’t afraid of me, are you trying to marry me off already?’ I told her she was a bit young for all of that, of course.”) 

::::

Upon meeting Hank, Erik found himself a bit baffled at his mutation. He’d believed wholeheartedly that mutations evolved as a means of adapting to extreme combat scenarios--as their physical weapons evolved at an astonishing pace, so too must their biological ones. Charles, able to know what an enemy was planning to do before they did it, Raven, able to camouflage anywhere, Erik, able to manipulate weapons and surrounding objects effortlessly. What then, of Hank? Charles had implied that part of his mutation was to give him a superior intellect, but that seemed impossible to prove, and how in the world would that relate to having large, strong, oddly shaped feet? A bit embarrassed at his own failure to understand the excitement, he chose not to speak up in front of the others.

He was also thankful that Hank’s appearance seemed to turn Raven’s affectionate attentions away from him, at least for the time being. 

::::

They got close, that evening. 

This time it was Charles that knocked on Erik’s door after dark. Trust him to be the one capable of sniffing out a chess board with only one pawn missing in a top-secret bunker. 

They spoke quietly, rarely joking, heads bent together and sitting on the edges of their seats to better lean forward to each other. Charles didn’t ask any probing questions about Shaw or much about Erik’s past, which he appreciated. Erik noticed himself collecting little details about Charles, and by extension Raven as well. Raven’s favorite day of the year was Halloween (no better opportunity to show off her mutation, and she was always up for a good party). Charles’s was Christmas (“Peace on Earth and good will towards men are powerful drugs for a jaded telepath like me, Erik.” He was only half-joking). Charles couldn’t bear to sleep next to a snorer at night (the words “I don’t snore,” fell from Erik’s lips before he could stop them.  _ And why,  _ why, _ is that important to just blurt out to him?  _ He scolded himself. Worse was Charles’s answering smirk. “Yes. I know you don’t.”) 

Unsurprisingly, Charles won that game. 

::::

Erik stared at himself in the bathroom mirror after Charles left, and was surprised to find a lock of his hair sticking straight up. Hm. Charles had neglected to inform him of his cowlick. As he smoothed it down, he found he didn’t recognize himself at all, his eyes were too bright and his hands trembled just a little. He almost scoffed when he realized. Erik Lehnsherr, who had indeed giggled with hysterical delight upon killing his first Nazi at the age of seventeen, coming over trembling at a bit of conversation. 

He took a deep breath and attempted to steady himself. 

Clearly, Charles tugged at something in him previously unknown. 

Clearly, that meant that it was time for him to take his leave. 


	5. New Beginnings

**1.**

Leaving. Right. Should be simple enough, something he’d done hundreds of times before and will do hundreds of times in the future. It should’ve been easy, automatic, clean and simple. 

So why did it feel so hard? 

It was as though he were moving through quicksand, the sluggishness of his arms packing his suitcase unsettled him. He was unfailingly quick and matter-of-fact about his various disappearances, amputating himself with the sharp and brutal efficiency of a surgeon’s blade, neatly escaping from one situation or another. 

He snapped his case closed and forced himself to steady his breathing. Simple enough, he told himself.  _ Simple enough _ .

::::

He couldn’t resist poking a little fun at Raven and Hank already dancing around each other, though he had to admit it was sweet, even to his hardened heart. Who knew, Raven and Hank might be the first couple to see what happened when two mutants bore children together. Children were an equal mix of their parents, would Hank and Raven’s theoretical offspring present with blue scales, yellow eyes, fantastical abilities of camouflage, smart as a whip and with ape-like feet? And what if that child grew up to mate with a fellow mutant, what of  _ their  _ children? 

He sternly instructed himself to stop thinking like Charles. They had been spending far too much time together. That would soon be remedied. 

It was almost funny that the CIA thought their precious documents were safe in a room with metal locks on their metal filing cabinets, and then simply invited him in to stick around for a while. 

**2.**

Erik slumped back into his cot at the bunker, dizzy with what had just transpired. 

It was kind of Charles to let him walk back into the facility on his own, he didn’t think he could stand the embarrassment if he had to be led back inside like an unruly child. 

Charles was right,  _ Charles was right _ God damn it. He’d gotten his ass neatly handed to him on the yacht after only, what? Twenty seconds going head-to-head with Shaw’s pet telepath. His mutation alone was not enough to protect him, and Shaw would only grow more powerful, gain more henchmen, and where would he be? Fighting his battle alone at best, dead at worst. 

Charles' words rang in his ears over and over.  _ What do you know about me? Everything. Everything. Everything. Everything.  _

Everything. 

He stripped his clothes and brushed his teeth mechanically before falling into bed, trying not to wonder why his soul felt scrubbed raw. 

::::

Erik woke up the next morning feeling more rested than he had in years. Charles needed him to be a team player. Alright. He could do that. 

And so, for the first but certainly not last time in his life, Erik Lehnsherr went looking for Charles Xavier, and found him. 

The fantastical device that Hank had worked up was an unanticipated curiosity, as was Charles' confounding  _ pride _ in signing up to effectively be a test subject for the humans. It wasn’t until he saw Charles drawing himself up to his full height and wearing Cerebro’s headset like a crown that he realized, to Charles it must have been a moment to  _ prove _ himself, to finally see what he was capable of at the outermost limits of his already glorious mutation. He realized that he’d never really seen a true demonstration of what Charles could  _ do  _ when prompted, a quick message here and a small magic trick there was the extent of it. How many people could he control at once, exactly? And to what ends? 

He watched as Charles' solemn expression dropped into one of shock as his knees just hinted that they were about to buckle (Erik realized a split second later that he’d taken a step or two forward without knowing it, momentary panic forcing his limbs into action before he even knew what he would do) but Charles caught himself on the bar at the edge of the platform. 

It was impossible to miss when the machine actually kicked into gear. Charles' mouth dropped open as he then gave a cry of primal euphoria, the expression on his face twisting from pure shock to a manic amazement instantly. He swayed, his eyes didn’t see the room in front of him anymore. It worked.  _ It worked.  _ A surefire way of detecting and locating other mutants. And with the spitting of the computer at one edge of the room, printing coordinates faster than anyone could read, there were plenty of them to find. 

Later, Charles would attempt to relay to him how  _ blissful _ the experience was for him. The sheer enormity of the collective human mind, the miracle of it, how we’re  _ all connected _ , Erik, truly an astounding piece of human ingenuity. 

Well, the sting was lessened somewhat with it having been Hank’s creation, Erik shuddered to think of the torture chamber the human agents of the CIA would have contrived to extract the same information from Charles' brilliant brain. Still, it was eerie, the unimaginable discrepancies between Erik’s forced discovery of his mutation through experimentation and Charles' sudden wild and joyous expanse of his own powers. 

Of course, Erik was the one of them meant to burn down civilization. Charles  _ was  _ civilization. 

**3.**

Charles effortlessly diffused the celebratory atmosphere a little afterwards, helped along by Hank’s need to qualify the data they had gathered after only a few minutes with Charles using Cerebro, already babbling about creating a map of mutant population density over the country--no, the  _ hemisphere _ . 

Charles made eye contact with Erik across the small white room, his face stilling for a moment before giving him a nod and walking alongside him to the facility, lagging a few steps behind the group. 

“Where do we go from here?” Erik brought himself to ask. 

The ultimate sign of deserved respect, a willingness to defer to Charles’ opinion. 

“We’ve found our horses, now we just lead them to water.” Charles answered.

“You can’t have developed a Messiah complex so soon.” Erik’s delivery was dry, as always. 

“Oh but I can, my friend.” Charles replied. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make Christmas come every day for writers! Please leave yours! <3


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